Star Wars: Forbidden
by aloysblack
Summary: Thrust into the Clone Wars, Essek Tek-Farr is a Jedi Master whose past has come back to haunt him-literally. The reappearance of his old apprentice sends him on a quest to discover exactly who is the puppet master behind the greatest conflict the galaxy has seen in millennia. With his new apprentice by his side, he must overcome his past and learn to liveand love-again.
1. Chapter 1: Old Enemies

Star Wars: Forbidden

I stared out over the battlefield, surveying the scene before me. Red and blue lasers lit the orange sand, merchants of death doing their job with consummate professionalism. As a Jedi, I was no stranger to death. But war? This was something that I hoped I would never have to face. A dozen lives ended every second, and I felt every last one of them.

I sensed a solitary clone trooper standing behind me. Clones were different; as far as the Force was concerned, they were empty shells: without purpose, without souls of their own. And yet, somehow, they were still alive.

"General Tek-Farr, I have report, sir," said the clone. I waited for him to continue, and he took my silence as permission. "We have the advantage. It may be an uphill battle, sir, but if projections are accurate, we will emerge victorious."

"And what of casualties?" I asked.

"Four hundred KIA," he replied. "That does not include Jedi, sir."

"And what of them?" I asked again. "How many of my kind have we lost?"

"There is no official count yet, sir," he replied, showing a hint of emotion. "Among the dead is Coleman Trebor. I understand that he sat on the Council, sir."

"Indeed he did," I replied. "He was one of those whom I counted among close friends. We'll be lucky indeed to find Jedi enough to fill those seats after this is over."

"General, the Council has requested that you go into battle." He seemed hesitant to inform me so.

"My time will come soon enough, commander," I replied. "The Force will tell me when I am needed." And that moment came sooner than I wished. Amidst the hollow screams of the dying troopers, I sensed a real, imperiled scream. One of my Jedi brethren was in grave danger. I leaped down off the cliff upon which I was standing, running as fast as I could, with the Force as my guide. As I reach terminal velocity, I began to slide down the mountain on my feet, using the friction of the sandstone to brake so that I wouldn't wind up breaking every bone in my body. When I reached the bottom, I heard the clashing of lightsabers far off in the distance. I felt a slight pain deep in my chest as one of those dueling was struck down. I had no time to waste.

What I saw when I reached the scene was an utter disaster. The bodies of slain Jedi Knights littered the sand. Many of them I recognized. Some of them I had trained in some way. I looked up and saw three young Jedi dueling with a black-robed figure who wielded a crimson lightsaber. I immediately recognized the aggressor as a Sith Lord, a sight which should have surprise any Jedi. It was no wonder these young Knights were being slaughtered. The Council wanted me in battle, and now was my time.

Using the Force to speed my movement, I jumped in front of the crimson lightsaber blade, blocking it with my own emerald blade. I still couldn't identify exactly who the robed figure was, as he wore a mask, but that didn't really matter. All that I had to do was keep these Jedi safe. I blocked here, parried there, and attacked whenever I could, but this Sith was doing a particularly good job of anticipating my movements. It was like he had fought me before. And the more I dueled him, the more I recognized his style. But the Jedi who once fought like this was long dead.

The Sith hit me in the chest with a powerful Force palm attack, sending me flying toward a nearby spire. I hit hard, and it knocked the wind out of me. I forced myself to move, throwing my saber at the attacker, who deflected easily, sending it flying through the air back to my waiting hand. Still gasping for breath, I began running for the Sith, but he held out his hand and pushed me back into the spire, which crumbled and fell over. I felt the bitterness of yet another life being snuffed out, and it sent me into a desperate frenzy.

I sprang to my feet and chased after the attacker, but it was too late. He had his saber at the throat of the last of the young Jedi Knights, holding her by a fistful of her long hair. "Release her, and I'll let you live," I beseeched. He just shook his head.

"Master!" she pleaded, but it was too late. The searing, red energy slashed through her neck with no effort whatsoever, and her lifeless body slumped over.

"You will pay for what you have done," I growled.

"How many times have you made that empty threat, Master?" the Sith asked, finally breaking his silence. I recognized his voice immediately.

"Takero?" I gasped, uttering the name of my last apprentice. "You're dead."

"No, merely come out of hiding," he replied. "I am not the villain here, Master."

"How does massacring a dozen innocent Jedi exempt you from being the villain?" I demanded. "You have fallen to the Dark Side."

"I have as much contempt for the Dark Side of the Force as you do, Master," he sneered. "You insult me."

"Who is your master?" I demanded.

"I have been without a master since I left the Order," he replied. "And I haven't ignited my saber until today."

"I know that Count Dooku is behind this, and I know that you're his pawn," I tried.

"You are mistaken, Master. Count Dooku is the Apprentice. I'm trying to discover who the Master is." He used a Force spell on me that I had never seen before, paralyzing me. He began to walk toward me, and I tried to fight, tried to break free. But it was no use. He reached me, and he extinguished his saber. "If I were a Sith, I would've killed you by now," he said. "But I can't have you following me without a little bit of a head start. At least, not until you can learn to trust me again." He raised the hilt of his saber, and he brought it down upon my head. I slumped forward, and even though he had released me from his spell, I was still virtually unable to move. He walked away, stepping over the bodies of the fallen Jedi Knights, and my vision faded to black.

I regained consciousness in one of the prefab medical buildings the Republic had set up. My chest, arms, and head were covered in various and sundry sensors, which I immediately began removing as I sat up.

"No, don't do that!" pleaded a medical droid. "We are still running diagnostics!"

"The only diagnostic you need is that I'm alive," I retorted, plucking the last of the sensors from my skin. I took my shirt from an adjacent table and pulled it on, tucking the hem into my belt. Something was noticeably missing. "Where's my lightsaber?" I questioned.

"I don't know," replied the medical droid. "Check with the quartermaster."

"That won't be necessary," said clone Commander Jepson as he entered the building. He handed me my saber, and, needless to say, I was glad to have it back. His helmet was at his side, and aside from his shaven head, he looked exactly like his progenitor, Jango Fett. Mandalorian scum. "Master Yoda has expressed a desire to debrief you, sir," he said, giving a snappy salute.

"He won't be pleased with my report," I sighed, pushing past him. He followed me like a trained dog follows his master.

When I reached the command post, Master Yoda was waiting there for me. "Master Tek-Farr," he greeted. "Ended, the battle has. Victorious, we are."

"Notwithstanding our losses," I remarked.

"Found you among the dead, we did. Worried, others were, but knew you were fine, I did."

"You never worry," I quipped.

"No, Essek. Worry I do, especially in wartime, but calm I remain. Tell me, Essek, what happened?"

My memory was still as sharp as ever, and I wished with all my being that it wasn't. "I felt a disturbance, Knights being slaughtered like nerfs. I rushed to help them, but it was too late. I fought the Sith Lord who had attacked them, and I could have defeated him. I should have defeated him. But I had a moment of..." I sneered contemptuously. "...weakness."

"Weakness, you say?" He sounded intrigued.

"The Sith was someone with whom I have sparred with before. My former padawan."

"Namoda? Dead, he is."

"Or so we thought," I said. "Apparently, he's been in hiding these ten years. And in the intervening time, he has fallen to the Dark Side."

"The Dark Side," he asked, "did you sense it in him?"

"I think his actions are proof enough," I replied, waving off his question.

"Many motivations, one may have. Tell me again, did you sense the Dark Side in him? Lie to me, you cannot."

"I don't see why it's relevant, Master," I groaned. "But no, I didn't."

"His motivation, we may yet see," he suggested. "Rushing to judgment is as reckless as rushing to war. Only when judgment is your only course of action, should you take it."

"What of Skywalker and Master Kenobi?" I asked. "How did they fare?"

"Poorly," he replied. "But with neither of them rests the blame; Dooku's alone, the fault was."

"I hope they are not too injured," I mused.

"Obi-Wan's wounds, superficial, they were. As for Skywalker, being fitted for a prosthetic arm, he is."

"So I take it the Dooku escaped, then," I asked.

"Yes, he did. But Skywalker and Kenobi were worth more than he."

I fully understood the course of action that Yoda had taken. Indeed, the lives of two of our most important Jedi were worth far more than the life of one enemy. Besides, if Dooku was indeed the Apprentice, his death would have meant a cold trail in the search for the Master. As Master Yoda has said in the past, there are always two. No more, no less. When the previous Apprentice, Darth Maul, had struck down Qui-Gon Jinn on Naboo, I had versed myself in Sith practices and history.

"So what is our plan of action now?" I asked.

"Track down Count Dooku, we must," he replied. "Our biggest threat, he is."

"A powerful Force user, a brilliant tactician, and our only lead to the identities of the current Sith Lords. That does sound like a good plan. But I request permission to track down Namoda myself."

"No, Essek," he chided. "More important matters, have we."

"More important?" I snapped. "The blood of thirteen Jedi Knights is on his hands. He must pay for his crimes."

"The Force will see that justice is done," said another voice from behind me. Mace Windu walked up and put a hand on my shoulder. I had great respect for the stoic, dark-skinned Jedi Master, who had given me much advice and training over the years I had known him. But his looks and manner were certainly deceiving; he was one of the most skilled and adaptable warriors that we had. "You must respect its will, whether you like it or not."

"Were we able to track Dooku's escape?"

The dark-skinned Jedi sighed contemplatively. "We were able to track him as far as Nar Shaddaa, but that's where the trail went cold. For now, our best hope is to spread out and hope to find traces."

"Or to wait until he attacks us again," I hypothesized.

"Of course," Mace replied. "But we don't really want to give him that opportunity."

"So you're sending me after him."

"Yes," Yoda replied. "Go to Nar Shaddaa, you must."

"You have sight through the Force to a degree that nobody else does," Mace explained. "Even in a bustling place like Nar Shaddaa, Dooku would have left behind some sort of trace. Perhaps you could find out where he went from there."

"If he landed, that is."

"We do have confirmation of a Geonosian sloop landing briefly in New Vertica. We think Dooku might have a contact there that could shed some light on his eventual destination. When you're ready to leave, you'll receive command of the RAS Prosecutor to aid in your search."

I nodded, formulating a plan. "Dooku was chased to a secret hangar, yes?" Yoda replied in the affirmative. "Take me there. I need to pick up his scent."

When I arrived at Dooku's hangar, several clone troopers were patrolling the premises. A large power-regulator column lay on the ground, as well as several chunks of the ceiling. I could only imagine the kind of battle that had taken place there.

I closed my eyes and reached out to the Force, feeling my surroundings. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the fading echoes of the three combatants' auras. One of them glowed brightly, and I could immediately see that it belonged to Master Kenobi; I had seen his aura before, and it was fairly familiar to me. I found it strange that Skywalker's aura was strong yet had a dull, grey sheen, and it fluctuated like a broken light cell.

The third aura was unfamiliar but easy to identify as Dooku's; it was a ruddy brown color, and it smelled of the Jedi blood that covered his hands. It absorbed everything around it like a black hole, emanating instead of x-rays hatred, anger and malice. It was a unique blend of darknesses and would be easily tracked even in such a wretched mire as Nar Shaddaa.

As I turned back toward the entrance, I was nearly blinded by a fourth aura, which must have been Yoda's. It was a combination of limitless power and unparalleled wisdom and compassion, with an improbable peace resting at its core. It was the mark of a true Jedi Master. By all accounts, Skywalker's power alone should have made his aura just as bright, and that made its current state troubling indeed.

I let go of the Force and my vision returned again to normal. "Such an unfortunate loss," I commented. "Dooku would have been a valuable asset in this war. Skywalker won't be as much of an asset in his current state, if the cloudiness of his aura is to be taken seriously."

"It always has been that cloudy," Mace commented. "It was why we objected to his admittance in the first place. We'll be watching him closely, but I trust Obi-Wan's guidance for the boy."

I nodded in agreement. "Kenobi is a fine Jedi. If only Anakin will let go his childish arrogance as I once did, he will prove to be as fine a Jedi."

"Are you certain you will be able to track Dooku once you reach Nar Shaddaa?" he asked.

"Fairly easily," I replied. "I'll leave straight away."

"If you don't find anything, let us know. It's not unheard of for Force users to mask their presence. Even from you." I knew by his tone that he was referencing Namoda.

"The only reason he was able to do so was because I was looking the other way," I defended.

"Even if you're looking hard, sometimes a chameleon can hide right under your nose."

In hindsight, the implications of this statement were much more profound than I first realized; the Sith Lord Darth Sidious had us all under his thumb the entire time. But I would eventually find myself removed from the one-sided dejarik match, thrust back into the game as a free agent with only a handful of pieces to support me.

I boarded the RAS Prosecutor almost straight away and set a course for Bothawui. Bothan space was warm and friendly to the Republic, quite unlike Hutt space. I could easily land on Nar Shaddaa in my small starfighter, but if an entire Republic Assault Ship were to enter Hutt space, it would definitely attract unnecessary attention.

In effort to pass the time, I went to the gym to practice my various combat forms. I elected to use a shinai rather than my lightsaber, but I still attracted stares from the other patrons. After I finished one form, four clones walked up to me on the mat. But they were different, not empty shells like the others. They had thoughts, feelings, souls of their own, even though they all shared Jango Fett's face.

"You're a Jedi," said the obvious leader. His face was already scarred from some sort of battle, some of the wounds recent. He sounded exactly like the late bounty hunter.

"Indeed I am," I replied, replacing the shinai in its rack without taking a step. "And you are...?"

"Commandos," said the one with face tattoos and the buzzed mohawk. His face had more cuts and bruises than the leader's. And he sounded different, an effect that jarred me somewhat at first.

"Delta Squad," said a third, also in a different voice. His posture was more rigid than the other three, and his manner of speaking was careful. His face was free of blemish, and his hair was shaven according to regulations. "I'm Four-Oh." He introduced each of them in turn. The tattooed one was Oh-Seven, the leader was Three-Eight, and the fourth member was Six-Two, who wore a t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a popular band on Coruscant.

"I'm the guy who likes to blow stuff up," Six-Two said with a wink. "Call me Scorch."

"Do you all have nicknames?" I wondered.

"Sure we do," Scorch replied. "Three-Eight is 'Boss,' Oh-Seven is 'Sev,' and Four-Oh is 'Fixer.' He fixes things so that they either work for us or stop working altogether."

"Well suited," I remarked.

"We wanted to spar with the best," Sev grinned, grinding a fist into his palm.

"'We' nothing," Fixer interjected. "I'm staying out of this."

"And unless I can blow you up, so am I," Scorch quipped.

"Still, in a fair fight, I think we could be fairly well matched," I pondered. "Unarmed, without the Force to aid me?"

"Those sound like fair terms to me," Three-Eight replied. "Though, I'm not quite sure about Sev here."

"How well do you know Teräs Käsi?" I asked. Three-Eight immediately took up an offensive stance. I elected a defensive stance known to be weak against that particular attack style.

"What are you doing?" he asked, puzzled.

"Giving you a challenge," I replied. The clone attacked, and I dodged, relying on my natural reflexes rather than the Force. He followed a predictable pattern, trying to counter my particular stance. When I counterattacked, I switched to an attack form that was weak against Three-Eight's chosen form. I landed a series of light hits, much to Three-Eight's surprise. "Let this be a lesson to you," I said as he acknowledged the hit. "Sometimes the best offense is to do something unexpected."

"I know what you mean," Three-Eight nodded. "They didn't expect four clones taking on the whole Clanker army, did they? The four of us blew up a whole droid factory and sabotaged a core ship."

"I'm genuinely impressed," I remarked. "I wouldn't think four _Jedi_ could do that, let alone four commandos."

"We're the best of the best," Three-Eight said with a satisfied smile.

"And yet I threw you off with what you thought was bad form. Let nothing surprise you, and above all, don't allow your anticipations to force you into routines and get you trapped without a way out. Always be prepared to improvise. You just might have a fighting chance against a dark Jedi like Dooku."

I went into a second bout with Three-Eight, and he was a much better match this time; he almost beat me. Almost. But even without the use of the Force, I was still able to best years of conditioned martial arts with a touch of improvisation. After he conceded, Sev stepped forward. "Same rules?" I asked.

"No," Sev replied. "I want to see the best an unarmed Jedi can fight."

"I'll try not to break any bones," I replied, taking up a defensive stance.

"Not Teräs Käsi," he said, slashing the air with his hand. "MMA. A combination of Echani and Mandalorian."

"Have you noticed my lineage?" I asked skeptically. "I'm more than half Echani. I'm also one of the most accomplished Echani martial artists."

"I know," Sev grinned arrogantly.

He attacked, and, through the Force, I saw it coming long before the blow landed. I connected my elbow to his back as he slipped past me, sending him sprawling. "You're lucky I'm pulling my punches," I chided. "I could have broken your spine."

"Quit trying to hit me, and hit me!" he growled. So I did. He lunged at me, and I drove the heel of my hand into his solar plexis. But it didn't disable him, and he lashed out with an uppercut, connecting with my chin. I staggered backward, and in my recovery, he lunged again. I spun to the side, but realized too late that he was expecting that move. He threw a kick right at my gut. I caught it millimeters before it connected, and I retaliated with a high kick of my own, taking him in the cheek.

He whirled his legs to propel himself back to his feet, and he settled into a more defensive stance, a particular Mandalorian gesture daring the opponent to move. I set into him with a rarely practiced Echani form, and at first he was able to parry my flurry of fists. But soon, I got the upper hand, and I drove both palms into his chest, throwing him backward with the aid of the Force. He flew hard into one of the padded pillars that bordered the ring, and he fell to his knees.

"Touché!" he gasped, holding up a hand in defeat as he tried desperately to catch his breath. "Touché."

"I hope you have learned your lesson," I chided. "A Jedi is never unarmed."

"We'll have to take that into account," Fixer commented.

"Come on, Sev," Three-Eight beckoned, helping the still-panting commando to his feet. "Let's hit the mess."

"About time," Scorch groaned.

"You're always thinking about food," Sev shot back. "Even in the heart of a stinking Geonosian hive."

"It was an honor sparring with you Master Jedi," Three-Eight thanked.

"The honor is mine," I replied, and the four clones walked off.

Satisfied that I had sufficiently practiced my combat forms, I retired to my quarters with a holobook on the Jedi Civil War. A distant ancestor of mine, Athena Tek-Farr, seemed to have played a crucial role in the grander scheme of things, and I wanted to learn more about her. But my academic aspirations were denied when my comlink squawked to life.

"You have a secured transmission coming through, sir," said the communications officer. "Would you like me to patch it through?"

"Who is calling?" I asked. "I'm in the middle of something important."

"All he said was that he's an old student of yours."

"Put him through," I replied, setting my datapad down. A moment later, a tone sounded, letting me know the call had been connected. I knew who it was right away. "Namoda, I presume. Come out from under your rock?"

"Not really," he replied. "Listen, I know you're heading to Nar Shaddaa in search of Dooku. You can either hang up and do it yourself, or you can stay on the line and let me do all the work for you."

"I'm hanging up on you," I replied, reaching for the button.

"Wait!" he pleaded. "I know where he went from here. And I know that you'll have a snowball's chance on Sullust of finding him without my help. Besides, I know that I'm much more appetizing a prey."

"Go on…."

I heard a touch of relief in his voice. "Dooku fled Nar Shaddaa for Coruscant, but that's where the trail ends. He was confirmed flying through the Capital, but he left the city and passed out of surveillance. I'll be looking for him near where he was last seen, but I have no guarantees of finding him."

"Then perhaps I should head to Coruscant and aid you in your search," I lied.

"A much better idea would be for you to meet a contact of mine in the slums on Nar Shaddaa. He has 'evidence' of my supposed involvement with Dooku that should be able to convince the Council to let you track me instead."

"And just who am I looking for?" I asked.

"An Ithorian named Trax. You can try to tell him I sent you, but he's usually pretty hard to convince. Be prepared to improvise." The call ended with an audible _click_.

I continued reading until we arrived at Bothawui, and from there, I suffered through the hours of monotony until I at last reached Nar Shaddaa. I asked around, confirming with the transit authority that a Geonosian sloop had left recently, heading for Coruscant. Then I tracked down Trax.

For somebody with such a reputation around town, his actual location was surprisingly elusive. He was a traveling weapons merchant with a knack for ticking off the Hutts. As such, he had to lie low. Finally, after three hours of insults in about sixteen languages and obscene gestures from no less than twenty different races, I heard the words I was looking for: "Yeah, I can help you find Trax. For a small fee."

"I usually don't carry cash on me," I replied to the hooded Zelosian woman. I waved my hand nonchalantly in attempt to influence her. "Perhaps you will waive the fee?"

"Perhaps I would waive the fee," she replied. "If, that is, I were a dunce. But now I know why you don't usually carry cash. All you have is your lightsaber, your robe, and your tunic. Tell me, Master Jedi, how many food vendors have you bilked with your mind tricks today?"

"I still have ethics," I glared. "I'm hungry, and I won't be able to eat until I return to my ship."

"Well, well," she said, batting her emerald eyes, "a Jedi who doesn't think himself above us mere mortals."

"Please save your sarcasm," I sighed. "A…contact of mine said that Trax had something for me."

"The only thing a Jedi would want with Trax is to lock him up."

"My contact is no Jedi. And the information that Trax has will convince the Council to let me pursue a murderer. I have no quarrel with Trax, and I share his dislike for the Hutts. The fact that he sells weapons is only a footnote."

"How much do you have on you?"

"I have about sixty credits."

"Better than nothing." She held out her hand. I reluctantly planted the six credit chips in her palm, and she stuffed them down the front of her tunic. "Maybe I can eat lunch tomorrow. This way."

"How much will that get you?"

"Current exchange rates will get me about six truguts. Not a whole hell of a lot."

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you more."

She sighed. "No, it's not your fault. Here in the slums, everybody's trying to survive. I could live a great life, were I to get a job dancing in the club, but I'm a girl with standards."

"Not a very high-class establishment?" I wondered.

She turned and looked over her shoulder at me. "The one that keeps offering is very high-class, if you can call anything on this rock 'high-class'. They're specifically looking for human dancers who are willing to show a bit of skin, if you know what I mean. They don't know I'm a Zelosian, or they wouldn't have asked me." She huffed in exasperation.

"I knew you were a Zelosian right away," I assured in her native language. "No other race has such beautiful green eyes."

"Two points for kissing up," she chuckled. "You missed your calling as a romantic scoundrel."

"I've never had an interest in romance," I said, waving off her comment. "Such is the life of a Jedi."

"Well, if you ever want to steal a girl away, remember that I'm here. I'd do almost anything to get off this rock, out of Hutt space. But again, standards." We arrived at a door, and she entered a code. A short melody sounded, she entered a second code, and the door slid open. "It's a two-stage lock," she explained. "And you have to have perfect pitch and memorize a complex series of ciphers in order to open it."

"Good thing I'm tone deaf," I quipped.

She led me through a series of hallways to a room lined with weapons of various and sundry kinds, from the newest BlasTech pistols to antique Echani vibroblades. An Ithorian stood behind the counter, cleaning a small holdout pistol. "Manda," he greeted, waving at her. "Did you get the parts I needed?"

"No," she replied, taking off her cloak and hanging it on a peg by the door. "I couldn't find the son of a gun. Brought this blighter back instead."

"Who are you?" Trax asked, beckoning me forward.

"Essek Tek-Farr," I replied. "A mutual contact of ours said you had something for me."

"I have many contacts. Which one?"

"Takero Namoda."

"Namoda?" Manda gasped. "That schutta owes me eighty peggats! Tell him that if he doesn't pay up, I'll hunt him down and take it out of his hide!"

"Calm down, young one," I chided. "When I see him, I'll let him know."

Trax reached under the counter and produced a data chip. "This is what you're here for. But it won't be free."

"Manda already took my last credits," I shrugged.

"It's not your credits I want," the Ithorian replied. "I'm a weapons dealer. You have a weapon that I need, one that could turn the tide of my war against the Hutts."

"Nothing doing," I growled, turning and walking for the door. Manda stepped in front of me. "Step aside, girl."

"Do you really want to try me, Jedi?" she taunted. "I'm awfully spry for a plant."

"Trax, why didn't you just get Namoda to make you a lightsaber? I'm sure you have the spare parts somewhere."

"I do," the Trax replied. "But Namoda has refused to do it. You want the data? Build me a saber or give me yours."

"No," I insisted, turning back toward him. "I'm leaving." Manda grabbed me by the shoulders, and I ignited my saber. "Let me leave or I will be forced to make my own way."

"Fine, take the frelling chip," Trax growled in two clashing tones. "I want what you want, peace. Even having something that looks like a lightsaber will give me the upper hand in this war. Nobody has to get hurt."

I extinguished my saber and shrugged out of Manda's grip. I walked up to the counter and said, "Show me your parts, and I'll make you an empty hilt. Or maybe a training saber that won't even cut a loaf of bread. You can wave it around 'til your heart's content."

"That's more like it," Trax said. "You take the chip. I'll be right back."

I pocketed the data chip while the Ithorian went into a back room. I felt Manda's watchful gaze, and I knew that if I were to try leaving while Trax was gone, she would go for a blaster, and I would have to hurt her. Within a couple of minutes, however, Trax returned with a box. I peered inside and found what appeared to be all the necessary parts for a lightsaber. "Rubbish," I said, rummaging through the collection. "This lens is misaligned. The housing is damaged. The power cell looks good, but these crystals are both flawed. If I put together any kind of blade with these parts, it would explode upon activation. Not even the most skilled saber smith in the galaxy could help you." I dropped the misshapen crystals back into the box. "Besides, these crystals are dead, raw. I would have to meditate on them for nigh on a week."

"Namoda didn't tell me this...," Trax said sadly.

"You're lying," Manda scoffed.

"Look, Manda, I've built three lightsabers in my sixty-two years. I know a thing or two about quality parts. Trax, whoever sold these to you robbed you blind. These parts are worth about three hundred credits in scrap metal, and possibly a decent return if you sold the crystals to a jeweler. You might break even. But a weapon, this will never be."

"Please, Master Jedi, give me something," Trax pleaded. "My cause is failing, and my business is dead. The reason Manda is starving is that I can't afford to feed either of us."

"You have my last sixty credits. Without giving you my cloak, which is worth maybe ten credits, I can't help you any further. I'm sorry."

"May the Force be with you," Trax sighed. "Manda, lead him out."

"Something tells me this is not for you," I remarked after a bit of thought. "You made somebody a promise you could not keep, didn't you?"

Trax hung his head. "Somebody I owe money to. This would settle my debt and get her off my back."

I grumbled as I pawed through the box again, and I managed to cobble together a non-functional hilt. "This is nothing more than a paperweight. And when your creditor complains that this doesn't work, you tell her that building a proper lightsaber is something only a Jedi can do." I handed him the hilt. "Stay out of trouble, all right?"

"Thank you, Master Jedi," Trax replied, bowing. "Manda…."

The Zelosian donned her cloak again and led me back to the busy streets. "I bid you farewell," I said, beginning to walk away. But she grabbed my wrist and pulled it hard.

"Take me with you," she pleaded. "If I leave, Trax will be able to survive better. And I'll get away from this pile of crap city."

"I have only one seat," I said, shaking my head. "Believe me, if I could, I would come back here with a shuttle and buy you both passage away from Nar Shaddaa, but my hands are tied. I won't forget your plight, and perhaps I will return."

"But I'm petite. I can squeeze into tight spaces!"

"No, Manda." I sighed. "I can't take you with me, but if you come with me to my ship, I'll at least be able to give you some of my food. It's not much, but you can stretch it out for a few days."

"Thank you, Master Jedi," she said, releasing my wrist.

She followed me to my starfighter and I gave her the last of my rations. I would arrive at Coruscant hungry, but I would rather give the food to those who needed it more than I. As Manda stood there with her arms full of ration packs, I climbed up into the cockpit and said, "As you can see, there's not a lot of room here."

"For sure," she replied, finally understanding that I couldn't even fit a tiny Chadra-Fan on my lap.

"Can you get those back to Trax without getting mugged?"

"I can smuggle a fully assembled sniper rifle through a Senate security checkpoint. I'll be just fine. I pray that I'll one day see you again."

"If I ever find myself back here, I'll look you two up. And I'd better not find you stripping in that club!"

"I'd sooner overdose on sugar," she grimaced.

I waved at her and lifted off. I docked with my hyperspace ring and set my coordinates before contacting the Prosecutor and letting them know that I wouldn't be meeting them back at Bothawui. Once I was underway, I reviewed the information on the data chip. It was a fairly crafty fabrication that painted Namoda as a rogue dark Jedi under Dooku's service. But it was still an obvious fabrication. Either way, it was all I had, and it was more convincing than either the notion that Namoda was also hunting the Sith or my argument that following him would lead to Dooku.

When I arrived on Coruscant, I requested an audience with the Council to show them the fabricated evidence I had retrieved on Nar Shaddaa. They were quick to doubt its veracity, but several of the councilors supported the idea of tracking Dooku through Namoda. By a margin too close for comfort, they approved my new course, with Mace and Yoda voicing the strongest support.

After eating a meal just large enough to satiate my hunger, Master Yoda called me back to the council chambers. He was the only one there, and only a blue hologram at that. "Master Yoda," I greeted, bowing. "Why have you called me here again?"

"Decided, the Council has, that take a new padawan learner, you must, if you are to pursue Namoda."

I crossed my arms. "And what if I should refuse?" I asked, having vowed long ago never to train another.

"Refuse, you cannot. Decided, it has been, and out of your hands, it is."

"If I must," I sighed. "You forget, my last apprentice met a rather undesirable end."

"Never healed, that wound has," the small Jedi pondered, furrowing his brow. "Healed, it should have."

"I know it should have healed," I replied shortly, "but it hasn't. From whom may I select my next padawan?"

"Again, I say, decided, it has been."

"What?" I said indignantly, inclining my head. "Why can't I choose my own student?"

"Seen her identity, we have. Three of us."

"But none of you are seers," I protested. "Isn't the practice that a seer m-"

"A seer, any Jedi may be, when the Force decides. The will of the Force, it is, that have this pupil, you should. Waiting for you, she is, in the sparring hall." The hologram faded, and I hung my head in defeat.


	2. Chapter 2: New Friends

I made my way to the sparring hall, unsure and admittedly anxious as to whom I would find there. Not only was this appointment foisted upon me, but unless Yoda's pronouns had been as confused as his syntax, I was assigned a girl. I myself didn't have a problem with it, and there were really no rules about that sort of thing. The vast majority of masters, myself included, always took pupils of the same sex, most often forming such a bond as a father and son, or a mother and daughter. (Though, many Jedi never formed any attachments at all, other than a deep respect for one another.) One thing I'd learned about my grandmother of a few dozen generations, Athena, was that she had fallen in love with one of her pupils, the Lost Jedi Atton Rand. Though they never married, their child was born during Athena's search for Revan, who himself had years before married Bastila Shan. Now, there were strict tenets barring marriage—much stricter than those in the days of the Old Republic. Some exceptions had been made, though I knew only of the case of Ki-Adi-Mundi. But that was only because of the Cereans' low birth rate, and Mundi took care not to form attachments with his wives and children. But what did I have to worry about? Not only was I completely disinterested in such things, but it would be easy to see a young girl as a sister or a daughter. Unless, that is, she was the very girl I'd been given.

Upon arriving at the sparring hall, I saw that the only being within was not a child, but a young Rutian Twi'lek woman who was being rather careless with her lightsaber. I had in right mind to go down there and teach her a lesson about safety, but I was so incensed at the apprentice who had been foisted upon me that I turned on my heels and left. I made my way toward the nearest communication console, but I happened to see Mace Windu on his way to the Council chambers. I reached out and tapped his shoulder with the Force, and he stopped and waited for me.

"I need to speak with you, Master Windu," I said, trying to control myself. "In private, if you will."

"What's this about, Essek?" he asked, forgoing formality.

"My apprentice," I replied. "My new one."

He nodded and led me into the elevator and up to the Council chamber. He shut the door and assured me that nobody would be eavesdropping. "Now, what about your apprentice?" he asked.

"This has to be some kind of joke," I growled. "First, you assign me an apprentice, when I have refused to train ever since Namoda's so-called 'death'. Second, you give me a girl, and an older one at that, when you know I have made a practice of choosing only boys. Third, she's a Twi'lek!"

"We knew you would have your objections," he replied, his face expressionless.

"Well, I demand that my voice be heard."

He remained unfazed. "The Force showed three of us the exact same vision, which placed you together with this particular student. We had no choice in the matter. I'm not asking you to like it. I'm not even asking you to deal with it. But as a friend, I'm telling you that you need to give her a chance. Whatever the reason for your match, she needs you and no other. The Council's decision is final. You shouldn't let your prejudices and idealistic notions get in the way of your duty as a Jedi."

"My duty?!" I fumed.

"Calm yourself, Essek," Mace ordered. "This chamber is no place for such seething anger."

I turned and began storming out, but Mace caught me with one final warning: "And so help me, if I hear that you've taken this out on Akenna, I will personally see to it that you are relegated to sweeping the dustiest corners of the Archives with a nothing but toothbrush."

Shoving the threat to the back of my mind, I returned to the sparring hall where the Twi'lek was still fumbling through her Shien forms. I made my way down to the mat and came up behind her, thrusting my saber into the path of hers. She looked at me with surprise in her large, blue eyes.

She extinguished her lightsaber and replaced it on her belt. "You must be Master Tek-Farr," she speculated. I nodded. "I'm Akenna Waraven."

"My new padawan learner."

"Yeah," she replied, wiping the sweat from her turquoise brow. She held out her hand to shake, and I took it tentatively. "Sorry it's so awkward," she said, withdrawing her hand. "I've never had a formal apprenticeship before."

"Which explains your sloppiness," I observed. "Exactly how long have you been affiliated with the Jedi order?"

"The better part of two years," she replied. "I've been training for less than one."

My spirits sank even further. "Great," I thought aloud. "Not only do I have to train the stubborn mind of a teenager, but I have to start from the very beginning."

"I'll have you know," she said, poking me in the shoulder, "that I am twenty years old. And I may be stubborn, but I'm still willing to learn."

"How in the blazing fires of Mustafar were you accepted into the Order at this age?" I said, raising my hands in incredulity. "You should have passed the Trials by now, had you come to us as a child."

A sly grin spread across her face. "The very same way I was assigned to you. The will of the Force."

"You do have some training," I sighed. "Who instructed you?"

"Kazdan Paratus."

"A Jedi for whom I have little respect," I sneered. "He relies on mechanical crutches to make up for his diminutive stature and stubby limbs. Though, I do admit that his training droids are a cut above."

"Are you always this critical and judgmental of your fellow Jedi?" she asked, indignant.

"And for good reason," I affirmed. "Weakness cannot be tolerated, and it must be overcome."

"But not by the use of a set of mechanical arms manipulated through masterful use of the Force."

"Don't mock me, youngling," I snapped. "If I'm to train you, then I need to start forthwith. And my first lesson is that you need to wear proper attire."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?" she asked, motioning to her outfit. It was a tight, grey cropped tank top and a pair of brown leggings that ended just below the knee.

"Two things," I replied. "First, it makes you look like a Twi'lek whore. Second, if I were to strike you with my lightsaber, a thick robe might absorb the brunt of the impact, saving your skin."

"I do not look like a whore!" she growled. "Aayla Secura dresses like this, and nobody has a problem with _her_!"

"Aayla Secura is not my pupil," I retorted. "As long as you are my student, you will dress as I bid. And I bid that you put a shirt on. But first, show me your Shii-Cho."

"But that's a lame form. For babies."

"Shii-Cho is Form I," I explained, as I had so many years ago to a young Takero Namoda. "It is the basis for all other forms, and it is the first form you should master. Shii-Cho. Now."

I watched intently as she ran through the form's various stances and motions, missing several of them, and botching others. I hung my head in disappointment and held up my hand before she reached the end. "Stop. You did not learn much Shii-Cho under Paratus's instruction, did you?"

"It wasn't something I concentrated on, no," she acknowledged, panting.

"From this point forth, we will spar with Shii-Cho and only Shii-Cho, until I deem you ready to move on," I ordered. "I may not be able to control what you might use in the field, but try to restrict yourself to the most basic attacks. Do only what the situation requires. I don't want to see any flourishes!" My thoughts flashed back to my own master, Izen Matsa, cautioning me in the very same way. I had been young and eager to perform the graceful ballet I had seen in the sparring halls, but he had warned me against taking things too quickly. Under his guidance, I had mastered one form at a time and become a remarkable duelist. Though I preferred Form II, Makashi, I still knew enough about the other six forms to be able to use them practically if need be.

I guided Akenna in the most basic steps of the Shii-Cho dueling forms, ordering her to perform each movement in the tempo which I set by clapping. She whined like a toddler at the agonizingly slow pace, but I admonished her, "If you practice things too quickly, you will develop bad habits that will crystallize. You must practice each movement so slowly that you don't have to think about it. Now..."

I reached out with the Force and retrieved a training helmet, and I held it out to her. "Put this on and trust your instincts. Feel the Force, and trust your reflexes." I called up a remote. "Have you ever seen a remote before?"

She shrugged. "My father had one, but he modified it for video recording."

"Well, instead of shooting video, this one shoots low intensity laser bolts. If you get hit, you will feel it, but it won't do any real damage. We will start out easy." I programmed the remote to run a more intermediate program than what younger padawans used, but still easier than what I started with under Master Matsa. She held her saber out in front of her, and the remote loosed a tiny, orange bolt from its shell. She moved the blade to intercept it, but not quickly enough; the bolt impacted her shoulder, and she cursed, massaging the area.

"Too slow," I chided, loading a different program. This one was designed for consummate beginners in the youngling clans. "Now the remote will make this sound before each shot." I reached out and touched the spherical droid with the Force, and it gave a harsh buzzing sound, shooting a bolt at the wall a half-second later. "When you hear that buzzer, predict where the shot will fly. I can't make it any easier for you."

Despite my constant orders to clear her mind and feel her surroundings, she was still far too distracted to block a single bolt. Twenty minutes later, her chest, belly and arms were covered in welts, and in a fit she extinguished her saber and cast it to the floor, refusing to pick it up again, no matter how sternly I commanded her to continue.

"This is stupid!" she growled, taking off the helmet. "If I could see the freaking droid, I'd be just fine!"

"Wrong," I contradicted firmly. "Your eyes are deceptive, and you must learn to trust the Force." I put one hand behind my back and held up the other, extending a total of seven fingers. "How many?"

"Five," she replied, looking at my hand.

"Seven," I corrected, revealing my other hand. I put them both behind my back. "And now?"

"Seven?" she asked mockingly.

"Four," I corrected.

"How am I supposed to know?" she groaned. "It's not fair if you put one hand behind your back!"

"Rely on the Force. Close your eyes and look at my hands." She looked at me like I was mad. "By Jabba's slimy beard, I have no idea why you're even here!"

"Six," she said defiantly, interrupting me with the correct answer.

I retracted half of my fingers. "And now?"

"Three." Again she was correct. I continued the exercise, and she rattled off correct answers as soon as I changed the number of fingers I was holding up. "Five. Nine. Two. Four. Twelve."

"Ten," I corrected, bringing both my hands to the front. "I'm Echani. I don't have extra digits."

"I know, but you imagined having four arms and using them to throw me off."

The thought had been brief and only at the edge of my consciousness, but she was right. "How is it possible that you go from total blindness to acute sight so quickly?" I pondered.

"I got pissed off when you started asking stupid questions," she retorted.

"Since you're now attuned to the Force, bring me those shinai practice swords." She began shifting her weight to walk over to the rack, but I reached out with the Force, pinning her feet securely to the floor. "From here, Akenna."

She frowned as I released her, and she held out her hands. The lightweight reed swords didn't budge. They didn't even quiver. She grunted and strained, brow furrowed, until her turquoise face was tinted violet. "Stop," I sighed, burying my face in one hand. "You're going to get an aneurysm."

She released her breath and panted for a moment. "Well, I'm sorry that I can't do the impossible."

I held out my hand and called one of the shinai to it. The sword obeyed without protest. "It is not that difficult. Just do it."

"I'll try," she replied, holding out her hand again.

"No," I chided. "'Try' is no longer a part of your vocabulary, Akenna. You _can_ do it. You _will_ do it."

She turned to face me again, frustration building in her eyes. "So you expect me to just hold out my hand like this..." She held out her hand, and the remaining sword left its rack without hesitation and traveled toward her. "...and grab it?" At that moment, the hilt reached her hand, and her fingers closed around it. She looked at the sword in disbelief. "How...? I don't believe it."

I nodded in satisfaction and repeated Yoda's frequent response to a student's disbelief. "That is why you fail. Deep down, you know you can do it. But you refuse to believe you can do it. Fifty years ago, I stood in this very spot, hearing these very words coming from my own master's mouth. I had to unlearn everything I had learned as a youngling. But I stand here before you a better Jedi because I was willing to listen. If you are willing, I can shape you into a Jedi whose power is limited only by imagination."

"Please," she nodded eagerly, taking a step toward me.

"But this is war time. I won't be able to take the slow pace I normally would. You'll have to be receptive, willing to hang upon my every word. And above all, you must be willing to adapt and think on your feet." I swung my shinai at her, hitting her in the ribs.

What was that for?!" she coughed, clutching her side.

"I told you to think on your feet." She swung her sword in retaliation, and I blocked it easily. "Anticipate my movements," I instructed. I swung again, and she tried parrying, but she was too slow. The bout continued in the same vein until she was drenched in sweat, trying to catch her breath. She threw down her shinai and dropped to her knees, cursing me quietly in her native language, Twi'leki. "I am fluent in twelve languages," I warned, "and conversational in six more. You would do well to guard your tongue."

"Did your master beat the crap out of you, too?" she panted, gritting her teeth.

"Yes, he did," I recalled. "But I adapted quickly. It wasn't long before my swordsmanship was good enough to prevent further injury."

"Well, I have a sword in my mouth that will do the same."

"Complain away," I shot back, half hoping that it would lead to reassignment. She left the arena in a huff, and I returned to my room to peruse a biography of Meetra Surik, looking for some sort of insight into her exploits against the Sith. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that she and my distant ancestor Athena were actually one and the same—Surik had taken the name Athena Tek-Farr after she went into exile, and she continued to use this name until her death.

After several hours of enthralled reading, my door slid open, and I looked up to see Mace Windu standing in the doorway, disappointment in his eyes. "What did I tell you?" he scolded.

I put the book on my table. "I used the same approach Izen used with me," I defended. "The same approach I used with Namoda."

"Namoda didn't show up at Medical covered in welts and bruises."

"But, if you recall, I did."

Mace shook a finger at me. "And Master Matsa was reprimanded for it. I would see you grounded, but the Council says otherwise. The two of you have your first assignment."

"That was quick," I remarked.

"It just came through, and we couldn't spare anybody else. You have two days to get Akenna ready for field work. Then, you'll go to Tatooine. We've received an anonymous tip that the Separatists are sending an agent to convince Jabba the Hutt to join their cause. We need you to identify this agent and track him."

"I'll let her know," I said, inclining my head.

" _I_ will," Mace insisted. "You need to stay away from her until tomorrow."

"Why? Is this a part of my punishment, not being able to see my unwanted student?"

He shook his head. "No. She's threatened to throttle you if she sees you again. We'd have to subdue and detain you both, and that is something we cannot afford."

"What's stopping her from doing it once we make for Tatooine?"

"Master Nu is cleaning up your mess," he replied, turning and walking out the door. "With any luck, she'll convince Akenna that you deserve to live."

The next morning, I found Akenna meditating in the Sparring Hall. She seemed oblivious to my presence until I approached. "Master," she greeted without opening her eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

"Quite," I replied. "Do you still want to throttle me?"

"Master Jocasta explained why you're such a pr..." She caught herself. "Why you're not as congenial as you used to be."

"Without revealing too much about my past, I hope?" I was hesitant to bring up the subject, since the very act may reveal too much about my former recklessness.

"She told me that she couldn't trace the roots of your prejudices. But she encouraged me, insisting that you weren't that bad of a guy after all."

"You're also following my first rule," I observed. She had forgone the tight, skimpy outfit of the previous day for a looser, more sensible tunic.

"Don't expect it to last," she retorted. "This thing feels like a sack. I wore a sack for the first ten years of my life, and it brings back unpleasant memories." She opened her eyes and stood. "What would you have me do, Master?"

"We will start with meditation today," I replied. "Then, after I am certain that you can feel the Force at will, we may return to the remote. But first, I need to smell you."

She squinted at me. "Okay, I've changed my mind. You're a creep." She stood and started past me.

"Figuratively speaking, of course," I explained, and she stopped walking. "I have a unique gift which allows me to sense the echoes left by every decision anyone makes. These echoes, these auras have color, luminance, texture, smell, sound, and even taste. And I can judge a person based on their aura. I want to read yours. It will help me train you better."

"All right, then," she said tentatively.

"Just stand here," I said, positioning her where I wanted her. "Try to be still, but stay relaxed. I want to see your aura at its purest. Do not be alarmed when my eyes go white." I called upon the Force, closing my eyes.

As my senses shifted, I was almost overwhelmed by the smell of Naboo wildflowers. I opened my eyes to see a brilliant, lavender glow radiating from her body. As I circled her, I inhaled deeply through my mouth, tasting her essence. It was sweet at its core, but there was a bitter aftertaste that quickly turned sour. I placed my hands lightly on her shoulders, feeling her texture. Her aura was hot, gritty and dry like sand. It should have been as light and cool as a morning fog. An aura did not develop sour tastes or rough textures without some sort of hidden, past grief, but I dared not break her feeble trust and enter the sanctuary of her mind to learn her secrets. I released my secondary senses, and my vision returned to normal. Akenna's breathing was tentative, slow and quiet, almost imperceptible. "Now I understand why you were allowed into the order at this age," I remarked. "Your aura shines like a flawless diamond—you are powerful, and there is no evil in your heart. But your aura is not cool like a fog as it should be; it is hot and gritty, like—"

"Sand," she said blankly. "Like the sands of Tatooine."

"I sense anxiety," I replied, feeling the echoes of her apprehension.

"I'll tell you later," she insisted. "Teach me something, Master. Distract me."

"Very well," I replied, crossing my legs and sitting. "You already know this stance. Let's get into it."


End file.
